


Vale of Sorrow

by Zimra



Series: I Wish the Wars Were All Over [3]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Elves for Decoration and Plot Devices Only, F/M, Gen, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 21:33:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1793887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zimra/pseuds/Zimra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At Bregor's wedding, Andreth considers her own future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vale of Sorrow

**Author's Note:**

> _But when I come to bid adieu to those I dearly love_  
>  _My heart is often melted - it is the grief of love._  
>  \- Vale of Sorrow, Sacred Harp 83A

“What’s all this?” asked a voice that she recognized. Andreth looked up just in time to see Bregor sliding onto the bench beside her. “I can’t have my own sister looking so gloomy at my wedding!” He grinned at her and handed her one of the cups of wine he had brought with him. “Wedding gift from Lord Angrod,” he explained. “It’s got some fancy Elvish name I can’t remember, but it tastes wonderful. Try some; you seem like you could use a bit of cheering up.”

Andreth found that she was already smiling a little; Bregor’s good mood was infectious. She raised the cup in a toast. “To you and Ranil, and your everlasting happiness,” she said, then took a large sip of the wine. It _was_ good; warm and strong, though not overwhelming, and she relaxed a little as the heat of it seeped into her body.

“Now, is there any particular reason why you’re sitting in this dark corner looking miserable?” Bregor asked, drinking deeply from his own cup. “Has that elf of yours been treating you well?” He spoke lightly, but he had never quite lost the hint of a threat that appeared in his voice whenever he spoke of Aegnor. 

“Of course he has,” Andreth said, a little exasperated. She looked across the room to where Aegnor stood, talking to a few of the older warriors. Both he and Lord Angrod had welcomed the chance to attend Bregor’s wedding, but he and Andreth had not said more than a few words to each other all evening.

“Then what’s the matter? It looked to me like things were going well. You two have been spending an awful lot of time together lately,” Bregor observed. 

Andreth felt her face redden; she wasn’t sure if it was from the wine (which was hardly her first drink of the evening), or because of the slightly suspicious look her brother was giving her. “Things are going well,” she said, trying to sound casual and convincing at the same time. 

“Look, I don’t care what you two are doing when you’re alone together, but you’re a daughter of the ruling house. You can’t keep carrying on like this without a betrothal at the very least,” Bregor said. “Everyone can see that he adores you. Tell him to get on with it!”

Andreth grimaced at him. “I’ve tried to bring it up,” she admitted, “but he just turns solemn and says that it isn’t right to marry during times of war.”

“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” said Bregor indignantly. “Has there been a time since our people crossed the mountains when there _hasn’t_ been a war? The elves say that Morgoth’s been lurking up north for thousands of years! How do they keep from dying out, with customs like that?”

“Well, it’s not exactly the same for them, is it?” Andreth pointed out, taking another drink. “Waiting a few months until the raids slow down is like blinking to them, and even a decade is practically nothing. And the people living in the more sheltered kingdoms to the south still marry and have children; Aegnor says it’s the price he and his folk pay for living on the front lines.”

“But you’ve explained to him why that isn’t possible for you?” Bregor asked. 

“Yes,” Andreth said, “but I don’t think it does him any good to be reminded that I’m…dying.”

Bregor looked alarmed for a moment, then realized what she meant and sighed heavily. “I suppose not.” He looked out at the dancers again, scowling slightly when he noticed their sister’s partner. “Beril has already danced with Lord Angrod more than once. If she keeps this up, people will talk.”

“Oh, stop fretting,” Andreth said, elbowing him. “You know they’re friends. Besides, he’s married.”

“He’s _what_?” Bregor sputtered, coughing on a mouthful of wine. “I didn’t know that!”

“It’s true. Aegnor told me. Her name is Edhellos.”

“Why haven’t we met her, then?” Bregor asked, looking slightly offended. “I would have invited her to my wedding, if I’d known!”

“Oh, she’s not here,” Andreth said, as though this should be obvious. “She’s in Doriath, visiting his sister.”

“Visiting his sister? For what, fifteen years?” 

“Oh, only about ten,” Andreth said, hiding a smirk at the look on her brother’s face. “They’re very close friends, apparently, but she plans to return soon.”

Bregor shook his head, disbelieving. “I remember when you used to stay with Aunt Adanel for months without coming home, when you had just started your training. I was bored to tears every time. Imagine if you’d been gone for a whole decade at once! I would have been insufferable.” He drained his cup, then said rather morosely, “Elves.”

Andreth felt a twinge of guilt; her brother had come over to cheer her up, and here she was making him worry about her problems on his own wedding day. The thought was not a pleasant one, especially when she remembered that he would be leaving in a few days with some of the other men to help Angrod and Aegnor relieve one of the forts on the northern border. If anyone deserved to be happy today, it was him. Glancing around, she spotted Ranil and caught her sister-in-law’s eye, beckoning her over to their table. 

The other woman excused herself from various well-wishers and made her way towards their table, and Andreth reflected with satisfaction on the wonderful job she, Beril, their grandmother, and Ranil’s mother, sister, and niece had done in preparing the bride for today. Ranil’s hair, which was the color of dark honey and very thick, had been intricately braided and adorned with blue ribbons, and the bodice of her green dress was covered with detailed floral embroidery. Her earrings, a gift that Lord Boron had brought back for her from Nargothrond, were of elvish make and contained real emeralds. 

Ranil stopped beside them, leaning down to hug her sister-in-law. Then she turned and smiled at Bregor. “Are you going to dance with me, or not?”

Andreth took Bregor’s cup from his hands and set it on the table. “Go on,” she said, when Bregor looked at her uncertainly. “I’ll be fine, you’ve cheered me up quite enough.”

Bregor took his wife’s hand and stood up, still eyeing his sister suspiciously. “Alright,” he said, “but you had better dance at least once, instead of sitting in the corner by yourself all night.”

Andreth muttered something that sounded vaguely like agreement, then watched as Ranil led Bregor out to join the dancers. Their timing couldn’t have been better; one song had just ended, and the musicians were waiting for everyone to take their places before beginning again. 

Beril and Lord Angrod had stood talking for a few moments after the dance ended, then Beril laughed and left him to some of his friends, waving farewell before skipping across the room to sit next to her sister.

“Have you really been sitting here this whole time?” she asked, elbowing Andreth playfully. “You should dance a little, Andreth. There are some wonderful men here tonight.”

Something about her tone made Andreth gave her a stern look. “You’d better watch yourself,” she warned. “He has a wife, remember?”

“Not Lord Angrod!” Beril said, laughing. “I mean, he is wonderful. And he’a very good dancer, though you wouldn’t think it from the way he acts. But I’m not so sure about men with blond hair. Besides, I like beards.” She grinned, raising her eyebrows at her sister, and laughed when Andreth shoved her. 

“Is there someone in particular you have in mind, then?” Andreth asked. 

Beril gestured towards a table on the other side of the room, where a group of younger warriors sat talking. “It’s Torigund - we’ve been seeing a lot of each other lately. I wish he wasn’t going north with Bregor, but that’s the way of things.” 

This wasn’t much of a surprise - Torigund was Andreth’s age, a friendly, handsome fellow who had always gotten along well with Beril. “He’s a bit older than you,” she said doubtfully. Beril gave her an incredulous look. 

“I’m going to pretend that you, of all people, did not just try to lecture me about getting involved with older men. Besides, he’s only four years older. Grandmother is four years younger than Grandfather.”

“Speaking of which,” Andreth murmured, pointing to the center of the hall where the guests had begun to clear away. With the dance over, even the musicians moved aside, making room for the elderly couple who walked arm-in-arm down the middle of the hall towards the great carved chairs at the far end. Everyone present, including Andreth and Beril, stood until the Lord and Lady of the House of Bëor took their seats. 

Boron and Emeris moved in dignified unison, their heavily embroidered clothing rustling as they sat. The head of the House raised a hand, and silence fell at once. 

“I am proud to have lived to see this day,” he began in his deep, calming voice, “to see my grandson wed to such a fine woman.” The room burst into raucous applause and cheers, and Andreth saw Ranil blush and laugh as Bregor put his arm around her. 

Her grandfather waited for the noise to die down again, then continued, “I wish you both many happy years together, and many healthy children. Now, don’t stop the celebration on my account!” 

Everyone laughed and cheered, then the loud buzz of conversation returned as the musicians took their places again and struck up another tune. Boron and Emeris remained seated, but Andreth knew they would mingle with the guests before long - perhaps they’d even dance a little. Bregor and Ranil had crossed the room to speak to them, and Andreth’s father Boromir had joined them as well, looking on with pride as his parents greeted his son’s wife. 

She scanned the room for Aegnor, and found he was looking for her, too. Their eyes met, and he smiled at her, at once joyful and sad and apologetic. 

_We’ll talk,_ she decided, smiling back. _Tomorrow, I’ll say everything I’ve ever wanted to say and he will have to answer._

But for now she allowed Beril to take her by the hand, pull her to her feet, and lead her over to where their family had gathered.


End file.
